motorcyclemeditation.com

Off the motorway at Reigate, a two mile downhill curve ending at a rail crossing. Traffic bunched in a single lane, the crossing gates opening briefly then closing interminably. On the motorcycle., slowly picking past the lurching traffic, pleased not to be stuck with them. Road surfaces wet. Keeping to twenty miles an hour.

A brief movement in the rear view mirror, then an overtaking blur. The zinging sound of a race bicycle at speed. The cyclist in Lycra, beautiful balanced movement, upper body utterly stationary, legs like pistons pouring power into the pedals. Soon out of sight.

Tempting to catch up, refraining from doing so, dangerous to go that fast. But admiring the cheek, he’s just done to me what on my motorcycle I routinely do to others, contemptuously sweeping past, unconstrained by mortal rules.

The crossing gates closed, motorcycle drawing to the front. Cyclist also having to wait, shoes unclipped from pedals. Nodding at one another, then chatting. He having spent summer retracing the entire Tour de France route, every stage, youch, no wonder he looked so good on the bicycle.

Asking him, don’t you feel it could be a bit dangerous, coming down that slope that fast in the wet, what happens if someone pulls out in front of you, you think your brakes will be good enough. Nah, brakes’ll never work, you use them you’ll just come off, the trick is, find the line, work with that, pretend you haven’t got brakes at all.

A fine pared down philosophy beautifully articulated. Coming home on the motorcycle through motorway lanes thick with tussling traffic, the idea still ringing. Finding the line, behaving as if with no brakes. A clean unstruggling rhythm pervading, Zen like.

Still with a finger on the brake lever, occasionally using it, squeezed not snatched, disrupting the Zen harmony, rebuilding it slowly. Motorcycle singing along. Arriving home relaxed and at peace with the world.